


And a Lantern Lights the Path

by DrabblingSparks (ingenious_spark)



Series: Kingdom Hearts prompts & short fic [14]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble, Gen, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Magic, Magic Statues, Prompt Fic, Rain, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 04:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19986319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingenious_spark/pseuds/DrabblingSparks
Summary: There's a statue, along the path from Saïx's remote home to the home of his family. It's magic, at least in part, as the lantern never goes out.Saix's sister dares him to kiss it- what if it's an enchanted prince! He won't. But to reach out and try to wipe away rain like tears, maybe. He could do that.





	And a Lantern Lights the Path

**Author's Note:**

> From a list of prompts over on my tumblr, [@oopsbirdficced](http://oopsbirdficced.tumblr.com).
> 
> The prompts are all written by [@normal_horoscopes](http://normal_horoscopes.tumblr.com) over on tumblr! I encourage you to check them out!

_Scorpio: A statue holds a lantern over the path. Its features are rough and weathered. The lamp is still bright._

Saïx snuggles down into the fur lining of his hood, huffing out a small, disgruntled breath as the rain sets in, a gentle, misty thing for now. He travels this path often, so his feet find the way, even under the pale moonlight. This is the path between his sister’s home, and with it the rest of his family, down the mountain in the village, and his own home, secluded up in the forest. Before he had built his home up there, the path had been little more than a deer-trail, even though there’s evidence, here and there, of having previously been an actual road. Saïx likes his privacy, though. He visits often enough, which makes his family content to leave him be.

He turns over what his sister has jokingly dared him to do in his mind. It’s stupid. It doesn’t make any sense. She probably just wants to get him to do something stupid, even if she isn’t there to see it. Little sisters, ugh. He shakes his head, sending droplets of water flying from the oiled canvas of his cloak.

He looks ahead, to the spot of light along the side of the path that’s growing brighter as he gets closer.

Definitely stupid. She’s having one over on him.

But his footsteps still slow to a stop when he draws level, despite the rain.

Saïx usually does pause here, though not generally in inclement weather. He looks up at the statue, the hooded lantern in its hand still burning as bright and steady as always.

It’s weathered and rough, but it’s still easy to see what the statue is meant to be. A person, perhaps a little taller than Saïx, but much more narrow, slender even. One hand outstretched over the path, holding the lantern. The other is clutching at the hood of a cloak that’s being blown in an unseen wind, revealing part of their head, and a sharp, narrow face. Their eyes have always seemed wide to Saïx, though the expression is difficult to say. Shock, he’s always thought.

The rain leaves trails down thin stone cheeks, as if the statue is crying.

“My sister says I should touch you. Well. Truly, she said I should kiss you, but that seems unsanitary at best.” Saïx tells the statue quietly. The rain isn’t too loud, after all. “I was telling her how I speak to you, sometimes. How I like to pretend you’re an actual person. She says it’s quite novel, given I don’t like excessive company. She’s right, though.” He hums, soft and thoughtful. “For a werewolf like myself, like the rest of my family, my choice of solitude is very strange.” He looks back and the tears formed of rain, and reaches out a hesitant hand.

The stone is rough under his fingers, as he futilely brushes away the statue’s ‘tears’.

“Hm. That was silly after all. I’ve had too much of grandmother’s home brew.” He murmurs, turning and heading away, back up the path, up the mountain to his home.

Home is warm, embers still lying dormant in the hearth, and it takes little time to shuck his wet cloak and muddy boots. He stokes up the fire, the ever-burning lantern lingering in his mind. That part of the statue is definitely magical, he knows that much, it never runs out of oil, or ever goes out. His sister read too much into it, that’s all. He changes into his night shirt and dressing gown and lights a lamp, curling up in his chair with a book.

An hour or so later, as he’s beginning to think about going to sleep, someone knocks on his door. He looks up, confused. It’s the middle of the night, and he lives in isolation on the mountain. Who on earth could that be? He stands, then hesitates. Why should he answer it? What if it’s a hunter?

The knock comes again, a little quicker and sharper. Well, it’s not like he can’t look out for himself. He’s a fully grown, adult werewolf, after all. He cracks the door open, peering outside. The rain’s picked up, as has the wind. It’s a stranger, in a worn cloak, holding a hooded lantern.

“Please, may I come in?” The stranger calls over the wind.

The lantern’s flame is guttering wildly, but he knows that shape. Knows the shape of the thin fingers that clutch it, as well.

He opens the door and lets the stranger in.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * Comments not in English
> 

> 
> LLF Comment Builder
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> This author replies to comments. It might take a few days/weeks depending on how busy I am, but you will receive a reply.
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